


Variation

by MaiKusakabe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Marine Marco, Roger's execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: Marco runs into Gol D. Roger by chance. The meeting changes the course of history considerably.





	Variation

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am with my story for Day 7 of the Marco Week :) This story was meant to be longer, but I got sick and didn’t have time to write everything. While I’m marking it as complete I’d like to add more at a later date, but it’ll be a while before I can because real life is demanding right now. Still, I hope you like it :D

It has been _years_ since Marco took a vacation, and he came to a tiny, calm island with little potential for chaos at the beginning of Paradise in hopes of finding some peace and quiet. So, naturally, his plans have backfired.

He leans his back against a tree in a clearing deep inside the small jungle that takes up two thirds of this island, hopefully far enough from town to spare it any significant damage. Marco half-hoped at first that there would be no confrontation, but he knows who he is dealing with and thus he is entirely unsurprised by the steadily approaching presence.

“Of all the islands for you to reappear,” Marco says when he knows he is in hearing distance, “you had to come and ruin my vacation.”

Roger laughs heartily. Marco doesn’t bother to look up at him when he approaches.

“I didn’t disappear! You make it sound like I was hiding or something.”

Marco rolls his eyes.

“Of course you didn’t. Your crew just vanished for fun. What do you want, Roger?” he asks, finally looking at Roger, who is standing there with that big grin of his and a small bag slung over his shoulder. As used as Marco is to Roger’s presence, it’s odd to encounter him without at least Rayleigh being there as well, yet Marco can’t sense any other member of the Roger Pirates on the island.

“I’m not here to fight,” Roger says cheerfully. “Would you believe me if I said this is a coincidence?”

“Unfortunately, I would,” Marco replies. He knows enough about Roger’s luck to be unsurprised by _anything_ that happens to him, be it stopping a civil war because he became friends with the right person or running into a marine vice admiral by mere chance. “That doesn’t mean I can let you just waltz out of here.”

“Why not? You said you’re on vacation,” Roger asks, and he’s serious. Because of course he is.

“I’m still a marine and you’re the most wanted pirate in the world. Give me a good reason why I should let you escape.”

“Because I’m going to Marine Headquarters to turn myself in.”

Marco could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. Roger has said that with a perfectly earnest face, as though it’s something _normal_ and not the most ridiculous thing Marco has heard since he learned that Shiki had gotten a steering wheel stuck to the top of his head. The best part, or perhaps the worst, is that Roger is an abysmal liar. Which means he’s _serious_.

“…Pardon?”

Roger sets his bag down and sits next to it.

“What you heard. You see, I’m dying —have known it for four years— so I figured I could make something out of it.” Marco is sure Roger has a plan —one that will not go well for the government, because that’s how Roger’s plans work— when he says that, but he can’t give that thought much attention. Because, for some reason, the knowledge that Roger is dying —that Roger will be dead soon— has hit Marco hard.

It’s odd. Roger is a pirate, a massive pain in the ass, a _criminal_. The worst criminal in the world, even, according to some people, and yet Marco kind of likes him. He certainly respects him. Roger has strong convictions; he’s accomplished many things that the government themselves, for one reason or another, couldn’t or wouldn’t do. Roger is, despite what his reputation or bounty would suggest, _a good person_.

“Well,” Marco begins, and sits down as well. They’re clearly not going to fight today, “I could always take you to Headquarters myself.”

Roger laughs again.

“Are you kidding? Garp would kill you if you did!”

Marco smiles crookedly. That’s true, Garp has spent decades hunting after Roger and would have a fit if any other marine caught him. He will probably have a fit anyway when he hears that Roger handed himself in.

“Now that I mention Garp,” Roger says, his voice pensive, “I was going to ask him a favor when he dropped by to yell at me, but…” He stops for a moment, his eyes searching Marco for something. He nods. “I think I’ll ask you instead.” He grins. “Would you mind fulfilling an old man’s last wish?”

Marco gives him a very skeptical look, the one he reserves for particularly harebrained decisions of fellow marines. Roger is infamous for his ideas; his truly abysmal, dangerous and downright suicidal ideas.

“I make no promises,” Marco replies, “but I’m willing to listen.” He’s curious, and he is also —somewhat— certain that Roger won’t ask him to storm Mariejois or something like that. If that’s the case, Marco can always refuse and tie Garp down to stop him from doing it instead. Perhaps. If he feels like it. Mariejois and its inhabitants are, after all, the main reason Marco has rejected a position as an admiral twice.

“I’m going to have a kid,” Roger says.

Marco blinks. That’s about the last thing he expected to come from Roger’s mouth.

A kid. _A child_.

Roger is about to be a father. Sort of, at least. Roger _won’t_ experience fatherhood (because he’s about to turn himself in to the marines, just how twisted is that?), but there is a child that will be born soon. A child with Roger’s blood.

Marco is sure he knows what Roger wants of him.

“You do realize that could get me executed, don’t you?” Marco asks, his voice casual.

Roger grins.

“Like that’s stopped you before,” he says, and it’s true. Marco has done many things that would have seen a less useful marine imprisoned or dead. Some of the things he’s done —some of them Roger even knows about— would have seen even him dead if the higher ups had learnt of them.

But Marco did them anyway, because Roger isn’t the only one in this forest with absurdly strong convictions.

And an innocent child doesn’t deserve to die, no matter who fathered them.

“Where is the mother?”

 

* * *

 

 

Marco steps out of a small boat and onto a beach at South Blue’s small island of Baterilla three days after his encounter with Roger.

One of the many advantages of being able to fly is that, when he needs it, Marco doesn’t have to worry about things like log poses or sea currents. He flew straight over the Calm Belt and to a nearby island, where he bought a boat to arrive at Baterilla in a more inconspicuous way than a flaming blue bird.

By his estimation, Roger must still be two weeks away from Marine Headquarters, given that he will follow a log pose route until the island closest to Mariejois —Marco didn’t bother to ask how he intends to take things from there; he doubts Roger has planned that far ahead.

Roger’s directions towards Portgas D. Rouge’s out-of-town house are very accurate, a sign of how long Roger has spent here, and soon Marco finds himself walking through a well-treaded path across the forest, a small house waiting for him at the end.

Part of Marco wants to hesitate, he hasn’t really stopped to think about how he intends to start this meeting, but he knows he doesn’t have the luxury of time to waste. He walks up to the door and knocks. The wait is oddly long for a house of this size —he can feel a presence inside, clearly awake— but then he remembers one of the things Roger told him about Rouge: she is a haki user (and an amazing woman, in Roger’s lovestruck words), and Marco finds himself pondering how she might react given the circumstances. While haki tends to be an advantage, sometimes it’s inconvenient when people can tell that you are strong even before they see your face.

The door finally opens, and Marco finds himself on the receiving end of the deceptively calm eyes of a beautiful blonde haired woman.

“Yes?” she asks, managing to muster a polite smile. Marco is certain most people would miss the way her left hand clings a little too tensely to the wood of the door.

“Are you Rouge?” Marco asks, straight to the point. If there is something he has learned from his long acquaintanceship with Roger, it is that Roger is drawn to straightforward people.

Her eyes grow guarded, and she moves closer to the door.

“Yes, that’s my name,” she replies cautiously, and Marco knows she’s assessing him more carefully now. “Do I know you?” she asks, and she doesn’t quite manage to sound casual.

“No,” Marco replies. There is nobody around for a long distance in any direction. “My name is Marco; I ran into Roger a few days ago.”

Rouge takes an instinctive step back, and her left hand lets go of the door to cover her stomach.

“Marco? Marco the Phoenix?” she asks, though now that he has introduced himself Marco can see the recognition shine in her eyes. Whether from newspapers or from Roger himself, Rouge has heard of him before.

Marco decides to take a step back himself and raise his hands in a pacifying gesture that wouldn’t mean much if he truly intended to harm her. He suspects they both know as much, but there isn’t much else Marco can do to reassure her.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, and then smiles in what he hopes is an easygoing manner. Damn, but he’s more nervous than he expected. “You don’t really think Roger would’ve spilled something like this to an enemy, right?”

That works. It seems that Rouge knows Roger well enough to realize he’d sooner cut his own tongue off than give away someone he loves.

“No, I guess not,” she says, and takes another step back. She gestures at the door. “You should probably come in.”

Marco does, and it’s once he is inside that he sees the short sword in Rouge’s right hand. He can’t say he is surprised.

“Why are you here?” she asks. “I thought…” Rouge trails off, but Marco can guess what she wants to ask.

He closes the door.

“Roger was going to tell Garp, but we ran into each other by chance. He’s always kind of liked me.” In fact, Roger has even offered him to leave the marines and join him instead a few times. Marco has the annoying knack of running into pirates who want him to join their crews.

“I see,” Rouge says, nodding more to herself than to him. Marco wonders what stories Roger has shared for her to be willing to trust him so easily. “I thought I’d have more time, so I’m not done packing yet.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Gol D. Roger’s execution is announced (or Gold Roger’s; Marco has always been very curious about that change), Marco and Rouge are at Alabasta, settled in a small rented house at Erumalu.

They flew all the way from Baterilla to Drum, where they tracked down one of the many renowned doctors of the kingdom so Rouge could have a check-up. Alabasta is one of the safest islands in Paradise, and Marco is counting on the fact they have skipped the entrance to the Grand Line and a third of the route to throw off any potential pursuers. It would take at least three weeks for anyone to reach Drum from Baterilla, something Marco did in four days.

Marco finds the newspaper on the table, though he doesn’t immediately look at any of the news. He puts together some breakfast for himself —Rouge rarely eats anything before noon— and starts eating before he picks the paper up. Roger’s picture, alongside a very large headline announcing his purported arrest, takes up the entire cover.

Marco nearly chokes on his breakfast.

_Well, didn’t someone have a mental orgasm coming up with this?_ Marco thinks, cynicism taking up every corner of his mind. He can only guess how many soldiers pissed themselves when Roger set foot on Marineford. He wonders if he waited until all officers had assembled before announcing he surrendered. Roger is certainly enough of an ass to do it.

Realizing what this announcement means, Marco reaches out with his senses. Rouge isn’t at the house, but by now Marco is familiar enough with her presence to find it in a nearby market area. He stands up, ready to go find her (because knowing that this was going to happen can’t make the reality of it easier on Rouge), before he thinks better of it. Rouge is an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of herself in a place like this, and if she has left the house she must have a reason.

Marco suspects she might want to be alone for a while.

He sits back down and reaches for his breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

A week after Roger’s execution, Rouge kicks Marco out of the house and orders him to go back to Headquarters.

As she reasons, Marco has been away for over a month by now, and the situation right now is very unstable. Roger’s little speech has thrown hordes of pirates to the seas, and the newspapers have made it a point to stress how much effort the marines are putting into getting the situation under control.

So Marco nods reluctantly, makes sure that Rouge has plenty of money and his vivre card on hand (Rouge rolls her eyes, but Marco promised to look after her and the baby) and takes off to Marineford.

By the time he lands at the bay Sengoku is waiting for him with an impressive frown on his face, and there is a wide area clear of soldiers around him.

“Where have you been?” Sengoku asks, and it has been a long time since he used _that_ tone on Marco. Marco discretely checks for the quickest escape route.

“On vacation. You kind of ordered me to go,” Marco replies nonchalantly. Sengoku has spent months nagging him to take a break, he even used his higher authority —damn admiral rank— to stick him with teaching recruits whenever Marco was on base.

“I also told you to take a den den mushi,” Sengoku point out with a glare.

Marco puts on his fakest guilty faces. He very intentionally left the den den mushi on his desk; he may not have been particularly enthusiastic about going on vacation in the first place, but he’s of the opinion that if he has to go on a vacation he’s not taking work with him. That’s a choice he’s very glad he made now.

Sengoku scoffs, but he doesn’t argue. They have been friends for more than enough years for him to know Marco won’t apologize or promise to do things better next time.

 

* * *

 

 

Sengoku is a petty bastard.

Five months after his return to work, Marco flies into his office and drops unceremoniously on his most comfortable couch.

“Aren’t you a little far from the New World?” Sengoku asks, not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

“Reassign me to G-2,” Marco says, very magnanimously holding back his first two replies. Pissing Sengoku off won’t help here.

“G-2 already has a commanding officer.”

“I don’t want to _command_ a base,” Marco says, and he stresses out the word “command” enough for Sengoku to finally glance up at him.

“Don’t you? You’re doing pretty well at G-5.”

Marco frowns.

“I’ve run into Whitebeard _twice_. I’m pretty sure he does it on purpose.”

And there is the fucking smirk Marco knows Sengoku has been hiding from the beginning.

“I’m sure he was glad to see you.”

Marco isn’t up for this shit. He’s been dealing with rowdy marines and overly friendly pirates for three months.

“Oh, yes. So glad I might even accept his offer next time.”

Fortunately for him —and the building— Sengoku doesn’t press the issue.

“I’ll talk to Fleet Admiral Kong.” That’s as good as a transfer, because everybody knows Sengoku is Kong’s favorite.

Marco doesn’t sight in relief, but it is a close thing. It has taken months for the situation to cool down enough that nobody will glare at him much for transferring away from one of the busiest marine bases, but G-5 is too far from Alabasta for Marco’s liking.

 

* * *

 

 

There are two presences in the house when Marco finally manages to return to Erumalu.

Marco stands, dumbfounded, in the doorstep, staring at the living room where Rouge sits with a cradle next to the couch.

“You had the baby,” Marco says dumbly, his eyes fixed on the crib. The last time Marco was here Rouge wasn’t even four months along in her pregnancy, and now there’s a tiny person sleeping next to her.

“Of course I did,” Rouge says, amused. “Pregnancies usually last nine months.”

Marco nods, still rooted to the floor, and Rouge shakes her head. She stands up —she was reading, Marco hadn’t even noticed— and walks over to him. Marco finally reacts when she takes him by the arm, but lets himself be dragged over to the crib. To the _baby_.

“Marco, this is Gol D. Ace,” Rouge says, strangely formal for a person gesturing at a sleeping baby.

It’s then that it hits him.

Gol D. Ace.

Marco turns to her a bit too brusquely.

“You can’t use that name,” he says before he can think twice about it. Gol D. may not be widely known nowadays, the world knows Roger better as Gol D. Roger, but it doesn’t mean the name is safe. The World Government is looking for that name, there are entire teams focused on it —damn, there’s even a ship stationed at Baterilla.

A sad smile pulls at Rouge’s lips.

“I know. That’s why, to the world, he’s just Ace and I’m just Rouge. But you know who he is.”

Marco looks back into the crib. Yes, he does know. Gol D. Ace, a little newborn baby who has barely experienced anything. Unknowingly to him and most of the world, one of the most wanted people in the world. Not even a person to many, if they knew of him.

_Fuck,_ Marco thinks, and slowly raises a hand.

Who the hell would want to kill a baby?

Marco runs the tips of his fingers over Ace’s upturned cheek. He’s so soft that it’s terrifying.


End file.
